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"Never again. I'm never drinking again."
Jake laughs. "I've heard that one before, Bradshaw."
"Well this time it's true."
If Jake didn't know any better, he'd think the last few hours have been fate playing tricks on him. Because here he is with Bradley, a man he's loved now for more years than he could count on both hands.
They're walking to Jake's place, back from the bar. Well, Jake is walking. Bradley is mostly leaning on him. He's hardly able to stand, let alone walk. The others left early, but Bradley had been glued to the piano, playing song after song. He'd even taken requests from anyone willing to buy him a drink. As it turned out, that was a lot of people… and a lot of drinks.
Jake isn't totally sober himself, but he spent most of the evening nursing a single beer, watching from across the crowd as Bradley put on a show. He always has been good at that. After all, that was what initially drew Jake to him, that theatrical side to him that leaves Jake unable to look away.
Jake's place is further, but he's the only one with keys. Penny had the good sense to confiscate Bradley's. By the time they reach the door, Bradley is still semi-conscious, humming along to something he'd played earlier. At least, Jake thinks that's what it is. It's a little hard to tell.
Inside, Jake gets Bradley as far as the couch, then tries to head to the kitchen. Tries, because he has to worm his way out of Bradley's grip. "Don't go."
"I'm not goin' anywhere, Rooster. Except to get you something to drink that won't poison you."
Bradley pouts a little but relents, letting Jake go.
"Bathroom is the first door on the right. No throwing up on my rug, Bradshaw."
"It's a nice rug."
Filling two cups as quickly as he can, Jake heads back to the living room, where Bradley is… gone.
There's a light on down the hall, the door ajar. First on the right— it's a wonder Bradley managed to move that far by himself.
Jake nudges the door open further, setting his own glass down on the counter. He settles on the cool tiles next to Bradley, who is looking utterly miserable with his forehead pressed against the cool glass of the shower. "Here, you should try to drink." Jake holds out the glass to Bradley.
Bradley shakes his head weakly, looking more than a little pale. The movement is evidently a mistake, because a moment later Bradley pitches forwards, steadying himself against the toilet as he empties his stomach of most of what he drank tonight. It's muscle memory that has Jake smoothing a hand across Bradley's back, muttering little reassurances. His other hand finds Bradley's forehead, holding back the stray curls from his eyes.
Later, Bradley is still shivering, but there's a little colour returning to his face. Jake hands him a wad of tissue to wipe his face on.
"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with me like this."
Jake shushes him. "It's okay, Bradshaw. Quit it with the self pity. It's not like I was gonna let you try to walk home alone."
"No, Jake, it's not okay. Let me apologise. God, I have so much to apologise to you for."
"No, you don't"
"I do. I let things fall apart, I let you go." Bradley stares down at the cold tiles. "I don't think I understood what people say about only realising what you have until it's gone."
"Rooster." Jake warns, trying to keep Bradley from saying things he'll only regret in the morning.
"Let me finish." He's slurring less, but Jake can't let himself believe Bradley would mean any of this sober. "I've lost a lot of people. I know, self pity, whatever. I always knew what I had before it was gone, always. I watched my mom get sicker, I knew where it was headed. You, though. I let myself think losing you wouldn't hurt. I thought it was the easy way out. But it wasn't easy, Jake. It wasn't easy then and it sure as hell hasn't gotten any easier since. I still love you, Jake Seresin. I did then, and I do now. I'm sorry I never said that before."
Jake has heard enough. "Drink your water, Bradshaw. Sober up. You look half-dead, and I'm not telling Maverick I let his kid die of alcohol poisoning."
"Jake, can we please talk about this?" Bradley pleads, his eyes suddenly staring right through to Jake's soul, just like they used to. It's too much, it's all too much.
"If any of that was true, if you remember a single word you just said in the morning, we can talk about it all you want. Shout it from the rooftops, see if I care. But you don't mean any of that shit, Bradley. You drank too much, and I'm just the sentimental bastard who couldn't leave you behind. If you really loved me all along, you could've come home. I'm the one who waited all this time thinking maybe you'd change your mind. Hell, I was ready to spend my life with you. Got a ring and everything—but you didn't want that life then, and you don't want it now. Drink your water. Get some sleep."
He shoves the glass at Bradley, who diligently sips at it until it's empty. There's something about him that seems… defeated? No, it's more than that. The word heartbroken comes to mind, but Jake pushes it aside. He digs around in a cabinet for a spare toothbrush.
Then he's helping Bradley to bed, making sure he's comfortable. No matter what he does, Jake can't seem to kill that part of him that needs to see Bradley happy. So Jake stays, and he settles in his desk chair. In their job, you get used to sleeping anywhere—or at least Jake has, and he's not willing to leave Bradley unattended like this even now.
Bradley tosses and turns for a little while, but eventually it's clear he's asleep. Jake follows suit.
When he wakes, Jake slips out of the bedroom. He heads to the kitchen and busies himself making coffee and toast, trying to keep his brain from dwelling on last night's conversation. Bradley might get the luxury of forgetting all about it, but Jake won't be so lucky.
He's halfway through scrambling eggs when Bradley takes a seat at the kitchen table. He's a little sluggish, but looks otherwise unscathed. "Hungry?"
"Sure. Yeah."
If Jake gained anything from the last few years, it's his ability to pretend. So he pretends now, as if last night didn't happen—because for Bradley, it didn't. He butters toast the way he knows Bradley likes it, sets their plates down. They eat in silence.
When they're done, neither of them make a move to leave. Jake keeps his eyes fixed on the swirling patterns of the tablecloth, shrugging off the feeling of Bradley looking right at him. "Jake."
Jake ignores him. Not that he thinks that'll work, given that they both know he can hear Bradley loud and clear.
"I don't need to shout it from the rooftops. I don't give a shit what anyone else thinks, I just need you to hear me out." Bradley swallows before continuing. Jake doesn't look up. "I never came home because I thought you wouldn't want me back. It's a shitty excuse, I know, but it's the only one I've got. Jake, I didn't end things because I didn't want a life with you. I did it because I was scared, and I didn't know what I wanted. I thought if I just left, that would be it. We could both walk away better off."
Jake is looking right at him now. "That's not how relationships work! And even if it was, you didn't think twice about what that would do to me."
"You deserved better than being stuck with someone who wasn't ready to commit."
"Do you think it matters what I deserved? I didn't want someone who was ready to commit, I just wanted you. I wanted you in my life, no matter what that life looked like. Shit, if I'd gotten on one knee and you turned me down, I could've cared less so long as you stuck around."
"I know. I know that now." Bradley's hand finds Jake's, and he can't bring himself to pull away. "And I know what I want. You still got that ring?"
Jake can't quite believe this is actually happening. He nods.
"Christ, you really are a sentimental bastard."
"You love me." It's more of a statement than a question, but Jake gets his answer regardless.
"I do."
There's a box in Jake's nightstand, and it's been there for more years than he could count on one hand. He digs it out in a haze. When he returns to the kitchen, Bradley is leaning against the counter—casual, like this is just another day. Jake steadies himself and gets on one knee. "Will you marry me?"
Bradley shakes his head. "Nope.” He replies with a loud popping sound. “But I'd like to stick around, if you'll have me."
Now, Jake should have seen that coming. He snaps the box shut, returning to his feet and getting just as close as he can get to Bradley's face, staring right into those brown eyes. He can't even bring himself to be mad. "You're lucky you're it for me, Bradshaw."
Bradley has a stupid smirk on his face, and Jake doesn't resist the urge to kiss it away. Much to Jake's mild exasperation, it's still there when they break apart. "I think I might be the luckiest guy around."